


A Close(r) Call

by luluren



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M, Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-19 14:16:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7364776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luluren/pseuds/luluren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nixon can't seem to keep away from him.</p><p>(A retelling of "A Close Call" from another's point of view.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He’s walking along the line, eyes and ears peeled for the sound of another attack. It’s too quiet, which means something’s going to happen because that’s what always happens.

Dick would yell at him for being this close to the front, but fuck it.

The words barely go through his head when he hears the screaming of the mortars, and he instinctively ducks, freezing for half a second before launching himself towards the nearest fox hole.

“Fucking Krauts,” he mutters, diving into the foxhole. A flash of red catches his eye and the man he throws himself on grunts. He knows the men well enough to not have to look him in the face to know who it is. “How’s it going, Doc?”

Roe throws a look Nixon interprets as _really?_ before answering. “Captain. You ok?”

“Didn’t think I was going to make it,” he answers, grinning like a loon because why the hell not?

The forest blows up around them and Nixon doesn’t flinch – it’s the same shit, day in and day out. Bombs and mortars and soldiers dying and replacements coming and then replacements dying and Nixon just keeps drinking from his flask.

Speaking of which…

Sliding his flask out of his inner pocket, he takes a long sip and shivers as the alcohol warms him from the inside out. He knows it’s a fake warmth, but as long as it makes him feel better he doesn’t really care.

It’s crazy, maybe, that he doesn’t really care much about anything nowadays. It’s hard to when all you see is snow and blood and bullets and death. He’d never admit it, but he _is_ scared to death (no pun intended) of losing one person. 

One stubborn, almost perfect, rarely wrong red-headed man.

Nixon looks at Doc, who’s poised just so at the edge of the foxhole. It’s like he’s waiting for something, and it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what he’s waiting for.

Doc hasn’t looked at him once since Nixon slid into the hole, and he’s in the mood for sharing so he pokes the man in the arm. “Want some?” he asks, holding the flask out.

Doc stares wide-eyed at him, mouth open like he’s thinking about what to say, but a voice starts yelling loudly across the way – _“medic! We need a medic over here!”_ – and Doc hurtles out of the foxhole, never looking back.

He watches Doc leave, and takes another sip.

\---------------------------------------------

“Everything ok?”

Nixon stops at Dick’s foxhole. “As good as it can be. Lots of snow. And fog. And Germans, can’t forget them.”

It’s nearing daybreak, the fog drifting across the ground like a cloud that’s forgotten which way is up. Nixon crouches down, Dick a gray shadow under a thin blanket.

“Have you been to the front?” Dick asks, his voice shaking from the cold.

“Yeah. All quiet. For now. Want to make a bet to see how long it lasts?”

Dick rolls his eyes. “What do you think, Nix?”

There’s something about the quiet way Dick speaks that makes Nix stand up and step back because it’s times like these he finds it hard to not stare at him with a look that might be more than a little questionable.

“I’m going to check the line,” he says, smiling in Dick’s general direction before heading back the way he came.

The men are starting to wake up – low voices can be heard underneath tarps, and the smell of cigarette smoke drifts across the landscape. Dike is nowhere to be seen, which isn’t a big surprise – if Nixon could get rid of him he would. It’s depressing watching him attempt to command the men.

He’s approaching the front, and there’s a man crouched down next to a tree, red arm band sticking out amongst the whites and browns. Nixon stops just behind him, and stares across the open field, wondering if this is what it looked like during the first war. Just a pock-marked empty space of death.

“Hey Doc.”

Roe turns, and tips his helmet back. “Captain.” His hand instinctively grasps his bag. “You might wanna get down sir. Kinda close to the line out here.”

Nixon chuckles. “I had one close call already. Think I’m lucky enough for another one?”

“I don’t know, sir. But why chance it?” Roe asks. A flash of something crosses his face when he turns back to the front, and there’s a crazy moment where Nixon has to restrain from putting his hand on Doc’s shoulder in an attempt to comfort. He’s got respect for all the men, but there’s something different about the medics. 

“Here,” he says impulsively, crouching down to hand his flask over. “Missed your chance earlier.”

“Um, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Captain,” Doc says.

“Why not?”

“Well, what if someone gets hit and here I am drunk?”

A grin breaks out on Nixon’s face, a real one that feels weird on his lips because it's been a long, long time since he's last had a reason to laugh. “My aim isn’t to get you drunk, Doc.”

Roe looks quizzically at him. “Then what _is_ your aim, sir?”

Nixon lets out a small breath, the air clouding in front of him, wondering what his aim is where Doc Roe is concerned. They’ve never actually talked before, but he’ll never forget the night Moose was shot. Doc didn’t give a flying fuck about scolding two officers – the way his eyes blazed. It was an impressive sight. 

“I don’t know,” he says softly, turning to look at Doc whose eyes are soft and tired looking under his helmet. “Corrupt you, maybe.”

They share a long look that makes Nixon think of Dick before Roe grin and accepts the flask. “You’re not gonna tell Dike, are you, sir? Or Winters?” he asks.

“Dike?” Nixon asks, laughing. “Are you kidding me, Roe?”

“It’s not really Dike I’m worried about.”

Nixon feels the grin stretching across his face and the light hearted banter feels good after such long period of nothing but bad news. “Dick? God, he’d love that. I should tell him you’re scared of him.”

The flask stops inches from Doc’s lips and he glances at Nixon. “Not scared.” Nixon watches, still smiling, as Doc swallows a mouthful of the smoothest whiskey known to man (in Nix’s humble opinion, anyway), and his whole body shivers. “Th-thanks, Captain.”

Taking the flask, Nixon tips it back slowly, savoring the burn. “Not scared? Then what are you?”

Doc lifts his slight shoulders in a shrug, his eyes on the open field in front of them. “Guess I just don’t want to disappoint him. It’d be like lettin’ my dad down.”

Nix doesn’t know what to say – the amount of respect these men have for Dick is overwhelming. Dick is, well … once, in the middle of a drunken stupor back in Upottery Nixon had been able to put his thoughts concerning the red head into words that made sense at the time, but most times, like right now – there just aren’t any. Or maybe it’s the fact there just aren’t _enough_ words to describe how wonderful that man is. 

He’s jerked out of his thoughts when Lipton steps out of a nearby foxhole, nodding at them before heading in the opposite direction. 

“I better get back,” Nixon says, propping his hands on his thighs as he stands. On impulse he looks down at Gene. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, sir.”

They make eye contact and Nixon blurts out the question he thinks about the most. “You think I disappoint Captain Winters? With all the drinking?”

Doc surprises him when he laughs softly – his features smooth out, immediately making the tiredness that’s always there disappear and showing a side of Doc Nixon’s never seen. “I don’t think there’s anything you can do to disappoint Winters, sir.”

Later, thinking back on the conversation when he’s supposed to be paying attention to the map laid out on the snowy ground in front of him, his thoughts wander to the medic and he absently wonders if Doc’s words might be true. 

He hopes so.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s walking the line. It’s got to be close to three or four in the morning. He’s nursing his left hand, a splinter the width of a cigarette embedded into this palm because he tripped after taking a sip from his flask. Grabbed onto a tree that had recently been blown to hell to catch his balance, and now he’s got a pretty filthy wound for it. 

Dick’s voice echoes through his head – _You think you should be drinking out here Nix? What happens when you run out?_ He asks like he’s not disappointed, like he’s making a statement, and Nixon tries to believe he’s actually _not_ disappointed. 

Roe’s foxhole is just ahead; the splinter is making his hand ache, and he wants it out. 

Leaning down, Nixon raises the tarp over Doc’s fox hole a few inches and the weak moonlight filters in. Doc’s pressed tightly against Heffron, his hand on Heffron’s knee and a wary look on his face. 

For some reason, seeing that hand on that knee makes Nixon wonder. Wonder if he’s not the only one. 

“You got a minute, Doc?” he asks. 

Roe pushes the blanket aside, being careful not to wake Heffron. “You ok, sir?”

Nixon grabs hold of Doc’s hand, giving him a lift out of the foxhole. Without saying anything, he heads toward the rear, hand throbbing. 

“Sir?” Gene says, his tone questioning. 

He turns and thrusts his hand in front of Doc’s face, watching as realization dawns. 

Doc huffs softly. “That’s one hell of a splinter, Captain.” 

“Can you dig it out?” he asks, his voice gruff. “I tried but the damn thing just goes in deeper.”

Doc pulls him behind a tree and they crouch down, his cold fingers pushing at Nixon’s palm. “Ya got a light?” he asks. 

Nixon pulls his lighter out of his pocket and flicks it. The light dances between them, highlighting Doc’s pinched eyebrows as he prods at the splinter. Nixon recounts how he got said splinter, and feels an immediate sense of relief when, a few minutes later, Doc pulls the piece of wood out of his palm. 

“And there it is,” Doc says, dropping the splinter into Nixon’s uninjured hand. 

He stares at it, thinking how it’s the first real wound he’s had since jumping into Normandy. A rather pathetic wound, but one nonetheless. 

He doesn’t notice at first when Doc stills in front of him, but eventually he looks over, sees him staring at the blue cloth clutched between his fingers, an indescribable look on his face. It’s sorrow and longing all wrapped up together, and Nixon feels his insides shift a few inches. 

“Doc?” 

The man’s lost in thought, something that can be pretty damn dangerous out here. “Gene,” he says quietly, pressing his hand against Doc’s shoulder. The medic looks at him as though he’s not sure who he’s treating, or where he is. 

“You gonna wrap it up for me, Doc?”

Afterwards, his hand covered in a pretty blue cloth that shouldn’t be in Doc’s bag, Nixon pulls his flask out and passes it over to Roe. 

“Crazy night, isn’t it?”

Gene takes a drink, ducking his head. “It always is, sir.”

There’s this thing that’s growing inside of him, a tumor that suddenly needs to know more about Doc Roe in order to go away. It’s reminiscent of the way Nixon feels about Dick, but only slightly. He lights a cigarette and stares at Doc for a few seconds before standing slowly and moving his gaze to the darkness in front of them. 

“Why’d you volunteer, Doc?”

Nixon doesn’t look over at Roe when his question isn’t immediately answered, but eventually that smooth voice starts. 

“Seemed like the right thing to do, I guess.” 

Nixon’s thinking of Doc and where he comes from – Louisiana, he’s pretty sure – and wonders what’s waiting for him back there. If he’s got a Cathy who writes him letters and to which he never responds. “You married?” he asks, his voice low.

This time Roe looks at him, an odd expression on his face. “No, sir.”

Feeling like he’s stepped over an invisible line, Nixon shuffles back, feeling awkward and foolish. “Thanks for patching me up, Doc,” he says before walking towards the front and trying vainly to ignore the blue fabric wrapped around his palm. 

He doesn’t make it back to the front; instead his feet take him to Dick. He doesn’t intend to stick around – he’s got his own foxhole after all – but Dick always seems to know when something’s bothering him. 

“C’mere,” Dick says, pulling back the blanket he’s huddled under. 

Nix crawls into the darkness and presses as close as he dares to Dick’s side, taking a moment to savor the warmth. 

“Did Doc patch you up?” Dick whispers, his voice laced with tiredness. 

“Yep. Got a pretty blue bandage to show for it.”

“Blue?”

“Mm hm.”

“That’s not regulation,” Dick says.

Nixon clears his throat. “I think it meant something to him, though. Had a hard time giving it away.”

“Wonder where he got it?” Dick’s voice is growing softer and Nix knows he’s on the verge of falling asleep. He keeps still, wanting his friend to get some much needed rest.

A few minutes later, Dick’s breathing changes – it’s heavy and slow, and Nixon relaxes into his friend’s warm side, dares to lay his head on Dick’s shoulder for a few minutes. 

He wakes up an hour or so later, his hand grasping Dick’s bony knee and he thinks of Doc Roe.


	3. Chapter 3

The whole thing reminds Nixon of the night Roe yelled at Dick and Harry, except maybe a few hundred times more intense. 

Richard Winters _never_ loses his shit. 

But by god, he lost it that morning. 

Afterwards, watching Dike being escorted to the rear and Dick standing beside him with arms crossed over his chest, Nixon can’t help but smirk. 

They make their way back into the village, the men standing around smoking and staring at the German prisoners sitting with their backs against a brick wall. It’s funny, he thinks, because when you’re in the heat of battle you think of them as monsters, as cold-blooded killers (ignoring the fact that you’re one of those too) but when you see them up close, they’re just like everybody else. 

“Never heard you yell like that,” Nixon says, a cigarette between his lips.

Dick shrugs. “Weren’t you at Carentan?”

“Not close enough to hear you. I saw you though,” Nixon says, remembering how Dick exposed himself to enemy fire, moving up and down the line, getting the men into action. “Suppose you swore then too?”

“Like a sailor. Or so I’ve been told.”

They stop at a street corner, Dick watching as Speirs walks down the road with that straight-backed gait he has, and Nixon asks, “So, you going to give it to Speirs?”

“Sink can’t argue with me after watching that mess, Nix,” Dick says simply. He glances over at Nixon with a grim look on his face. 

“You got what you wanted at least.”

He sighs, long and hard, and the lines that’ve cropped up on his face over the past year seems to have etched themselves even deeper. “Not the way it should’ve happened.”

“Three cheers for Army bureaucracy,” Nix responds sarcastically. He pulls his flask out of his pocket, and knowing full well what Dick’s going to say, he holds it out. “Want to celebrate?”

Dick rolls his eyes, something he does only for Nixon. “What do you think?”

Later that night, Nixon slips into a church the men are staying in. Dick’s at HQ and he should probably be there too, but for a few minutes he just wants to rest. 

Speirs and Lipton are talking quietly to one another, and after being impressed at the lack of fear on Lip’s face, Nixon turns his gaze to Doc Roe. He’s sitting on the other side of the church, murmuring to Heffron. 

He doesn’t mean to stare at them, but his eyes don’t seem to want to move. He watches as Heffron slides down in his seat and rests his head on Doc’s shoulder. It’s a comforting scene, makes Nixon think back to cold, cramped foxholes and that closeness you’re forced to feel with another human being, 

His eyes drift back to Doc, who’s sitting ram-rod straight and throwing bewildered but affectionate glances at Heffron, and suddenly Nixon is quite sure about one thing. 

He _knows_ he’s not the only one. 

\---------------------------------------------

It’s only by chance that he sees Doc disappear through a door leading to the roof. Nixon’s talking in quiet murmurs to Speirs on the front porch of a dilapidated house about what the Germans are up to across the river and excuses himself a few minutes later to follow the medic. 

He’s not sure why he’s following him; he blames it on the flask he’s been steadily sipping from since dinner. Reaching the top floor, he pauses at the door and takes a long drink, thinking he should just turn around and go downstairs, forget about Eugene Roe and the secret they’ve got in common. 

But of course he doesn’t do that. 

Roe’s nowhere in sight once he reaches the cold, wet air of the roof, but there’s an alcove facing the town on the other side and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out where he is. Turning the corner, he finds Roe sitting in the niche of the roof, legs stretched out in front of him and looking as though he’s got the world on his mind. Nixon sits down close to Doc and lights a cigarette. 

There’s no speaking, not at first anyway. Nixon’s not sure why he’s up here or why it makes him think of Dick, and maybe, just maybe, the alcohol is giving him the courage to speak his mind. 

It’s when Doc hands him back his flask and those cold fingers touch his for a brief instant that Nixon grows brave, or maybe he just doesn’t even care; he’s not sure which one, so he grabs hold of those fingers and doesn’t let go. 

“I see the way you look at him,” Nixon whispers, squeezing that hand in what he hopes is a comforting manner. “Can’t hide nothing from me, Doc.” He doesn’t look at Roe when he speaks, instead keeps his gaze on their entwined fingers, and pulls at every bit of courage he’s got. “Know how I know, Eugene?” His voice cracks when he says Doc’s name. “You look at him the same way I look at Winters.”

And then, wouldn’t you know it, the Germans start firing on the town right in front of them. It’s punishment for speaking the words aloud, he supposes.

They stay right where they are, though, watching as bombs go off in the middle of streets and crashing through the roofs of deserted houses but there’s a lightness in Nixon that hasn’t been there since the second he saw Dick Winters. 

The attack stops, and someone’s calling for a medic from somewhere below. Doc lets go of Nixon’s hand and sits up, and Nix knows he’s about to do something stupid, something he might regret as soon as it’s over but – fuck it.

“I should –” Roe starts to say, but Nixon wraps his hand around the back of his neck and kisses him. 

Part of him expects the man to pull away and punch him in the face, but when he doesn’t Nixon tries to deepen the kiss as a shaking hand presses against his chest. It’s not pushing him away though, and he moans against Doc’s lips. 

“Gene –” he pants, his voiced laced with nervousness and anxiety as their foreheads rest together momentarily. Doc’s breathing heavily, his breath warm and smelling like cigarettes and Nixon wants to lean in and kiss him again but Doc pulls back and stands. 

Nix watches as he wipes his mouth with his hand, staring at it like he’s never seen it before. He won’t look at Nixon. “Sir –”

“Eugene –”

Nixon rises to his feet and steps forward cautiously, wishing Doc would look at him and maybe wishes do come true because he finally does. Doc’s staring at him warily, like he’s not sure what to do, so Nix takes advantage.

His hand slides once again around the back of Roe’s neck and slowly, slowly, slowly their lips meet. Nixon pulls Eugene closer, and moans too loudly when his hair is pulled. 

He can’t help but wonder if this is how it would feel if it were Dick instead of Gene Roe.


	4. Chapter 4

“Sink wants what?” 

Dick’s voice is incredulous, and Nixon grimaces.

“Take a platoon across the river and –”

“I heard you the first time,” Dick mutters, crossing his arms in front of his chest and staring out across the dirty Rhine. “This is…”

Nix lights a cigarette. “Ridiculous. Dangerous. Pointless. Should I keep going?”

Dick doesn’t say anything for a long time, and Nixon waits patiently. He’ll speak when he’s ready. 

“I’ll talk to Speirs,” he says eventually. He turns serious eyes on Nix. “Get them boats and anything else they need, Nix. We’re not taking any more chances than we have to.”

“You got it, Dick.” Nixon claps his shoulder, taking a chance to squeeze it softly.

He throws Nixon a smile before turning and heading down a street towards the center of town. 

Nix stays where he is, puffing away at his cigarette and contemplating the flask that's in his pocket. He wants a drink, badly, but before he even moves his hand a mortar hits close by and someone shouts for a medic. 

He turns and watches Doc appear out of nowhere and sprint across the road, face grim. Unbidden, thoughts from the night before swarm back.

A warm mouth and hard body and those noises Doc made when Nixon tilted his head and deepened the kiss. 

All that pent up energy from months and months of watching Dick Winters with an ache in his stomach that never goes away – and kissing Doc (it’s _Gene,_ his mind insists, because they’ve shared a personal moment and “Doc” just isn’t personal enough) eased the ache. 

He wonders what that means. 

When he reaches the center of town he finds Doc kneeling down beside the body, a spilt bag of potatoes at the man's side. Gene’s pulling at the chain around the man’s neck and doesn’t notice Nixon. 

“What was his name?” Nix asks, wondering if Gene will look at him. It isn’t a big thing if he doesn’t, though he’s unable to ignore the relief when Gene does.

“Daniels. Replacement.”

“Did you know him?”

“No, sir. Not really.” Gene unhooks the man’s dog-tags and slides one into his bag. “Patched him up after Foy, I think.”

Attempting to stop the flush he knows is on his cheeks, Nixon sighs and looks at Gene with what he hopes is a neutral expression. “Won’t need patching up again.” Lighting a cigarette, he shifts on his feet, coming to a decision. “Do me a favor and stay near by tonight, Doc.”

Gene looks at him carefully. “Ok.”

He wants to say more, maybe an explanation about tonight or maybe one about last night but instead he walks away, head down.

\---------------------------------------------

Dick finds him after it’s all over and they head to HQ. He tells him the prisoners are talking and Sink’s boasting to anyone who’ll listen. 

Oh, and a man died. 

But that’s just water under the table. 

Dick watches Sink with an indecipherable look before excusing himself. Nixon follows not long after, heading back to the house he’s staying in and trying not to think. The road is full of shadows and he can’t really say he’s surprised when Doc rounds a corner and smacks right into him. 

“Whoa, Doc,” he says, grabbing the other man’s arms to steady him. 

“Sorry, sir,” Gene says in a hard voice. “Guess I wasn’t paying attention.” He glances at Nixon before moving his gaze elsewhere. He’s mad – there’s an undercurrent of anger in his movements. 

“The prisoners are talking,” Nix says after a minute of awkward silence, “so Sink’s happy.”

Gene throws him a look of disgust. “You think I should care about that? After what I just saw?”

A flare of something close to fondness goes through Nixon, and he holds back a smirk. “No. You shouldn’t.”

“Sir, I –”

He can’t help himself. He reaches out to touch Gene’s sleeve, lips stretched into a grin. It’s funny – he hasn’t smiled this much in a long time. “It’s refreshing. You don’t hold anything back.” 

Gene’s eyes stray down to Nixon’s fingers before meeting his own. “Refreshing, sir?”

“I’m surrounded by bunch of ass kissers all day,” Nixon explains. “Winters being the exception. And you too, apparently.”

The disgruntled look that’s been on the medic’s face since he ran into Nixon melts away and is replaced with reddened cheeks. “Thanks, sir.”

There have been so many times when Nixon’s had to hold back from making a move on Dick and to know that he can do it with Gene – well, there aren’t enough words. He doesn’t hesitate before pushing him back against the wall.

“Sir –” Gene whispers and God, Nixon doesn’t want to hear it. 

“Jesus, Gene, don’t call me that when we’re doing this.” Searching in the dark for a pair of lips, he groans softly when Gene pushes him away. 

“What am I supposed to call you?” he asks. 

Nixon restrains from rolling his eyes. “I don’t know. But not that.” 

Kissing Gene is like letting out every thought, every action he’s imagined with someone else, and while his daydreams have always been one sided, it’s a different kind of wonderful when Gene holds tight, those lifesaving hands pressed against his back.

But then Gene pulls back after a few amazing moments and says, “Nix,” in a way that he has always imagined Dick saying it – all breathy and low – and he can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. 

The nickname’s been ruined for him by one of the best men out there. 

He steps back, not sure how to tell Gene not to call him that but footsteps are coming up the street and he moves further away. 

Gene's brow creases with confusion and he says it again. “Nix…”

Of course it’s Dick that’s passing the alleyway and Gene melts back into the shadows. Nixon’s heart hammers in his chest and he walks away. He goes the opposite direction that Dick went, for once wanting to avoid him.


	5. Chapter 5

Nixon ruminates how unlikely this situation should be – sitting on the roof with Gene in his lap tentatively pressing into him. What’s happening doesn’t make sense and maybe shouldn’t be happening, but it is anyway. The man in his lap isn’t the one he’s wanted for two years, though there’s no denying how easy it is to do it. 

Gene smells like the cold air and tastes like something Nix’s never tasted before. 

It’s hard to get out of his mind, the memories. Walking down the stairs behind Dick and trying not to be annoyed at the interruption, he’s thinking of Gene’s skin and the way Nix called their kiss beautiful even though he meant the sunrise. 

“You seem distracted,” Dick says as they leave the house and start walking towards the river. He glances over, half a smile on his pale face. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Nix says, lighting a cigarette. “Just something about seeing a sunrise, I guess.”

Dick grins. “Yeah. I guess there is.” He clears his throat softly as they reach the river. “I’ve been thinking about tonight.”

For some reason it’s hard to look Dick in the eye. “What’re you thinking, Captain?”

He hesitates for a second, eyes skipping to the river. “We’re not doing it. I’ll write up a report in the morning, say they weren’t able to get any prisoners.”

It’s Nixon’s turn to grin – “Breaking the rules then? Wouldn’t’ve expected that out of you, Dick.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got to fight against stupidity every now and then,” Dick says simply. 

“I’m proud of you,” Nix says after a moment, clapping him on the back before hastily moving his hand. “Knew there was a rebel inside somewhere.” A thought occurs to him and he reaches into his jacket for the flask. “Want a drink?”

“What do you think?” Dick asks, bemused. 

“Thought this might be my chance. All the rule-breaking going on around here.” Nixon sighs dramatically and replaces the flask. “Someday, maybe.”

“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Dick replies. He nudges Nixon’s shoulder with his own before suggesting they find some chow, and Nixon follows, his mind warring between the nudge he just got and the way Gene breathed unsteadily as they kissed in the niche of the roof. 

\---------------------------------------------

They’re loading up the trucks to leave Haguenau. Nixon stands with Dick and Speirs, talking quietly. They’re headed to the rear for a few days of R&R, something the men haven’t had since before Bastogne. 

Nixon’s laughing at something Dick’s just said when a familiar face catches his eye; the medic’s cozily leaning back against Heffron’s arm where they sit in the back of the truck and this thing, this ball of something unpleasant threatens to burst out of his chest. They stare at each other until Nixon walks away.

He’s can’t even think straight; there’s so much jealousy pouring out of every crevice. He knows it’s uncalled for, he knows Gene’s pining after Heffron but after what happened between them on the roof – he shakes his head, feeling foolish. He knows how it is, they both know how it is, and Nixon is being unreasonable.

“You ok?” Dick asks as they get in a jeep.

“’m fine,” he says shortly, his tone making it clear he doesn’t want to talk. Dick respects his wishes like always, and Nixon sits quietly, trying not to feel pissed off but failing pretty badly at it.

It’s a long ride back, and he hunches down in his seat, tired beyond belief. Closing his eyes, thoughts from the roof come trickling back as much as he doesn’t want to think about it.

First it’s Gene calling him Lew and the awkward silence that followed his admission explaining why he doesn’t like being called Nix.

The way he pushed back when Nixon tried to shut him up about the second patrol – it’s almost indecent how much Nix enjoys seeing Gene mad or annoyed.

He remembers with extreme clarity what it felt like to pull Gene into his lap and run his hands up his shirt. What it felt like when Gene moaned into his mouth.

_We’re sad men, aren’t we?_ he thinks as he finally dozes off.

\---------------------------------------------

It’s day three of R&R when Nixon finds out Gene’s been sick. 

He’s been avoiding him because, well, that whole jealousy thing, and a rush of guilt hits. 

Spina and Heffron look up as Nixon walks down the hallway of the place Easy is staying in, discussing Gene in low voices and the worry on their faces is apparent. 

“Roe is sick?” Nixon asks nonchalantly. “First Lip, now Doc?”

“Yes, sir. Think it’s the flu,” Spina says quietly. He glances at the door behind him. “Been coughin’ up a storm.”

“Gave him some aspirin, right?” Heffron interjects. “He’ll be fine as long as he stays in bed.” 

“Had to threaten him to get him there.” Spina smiles at Nixon, then winces as Gene coughs, the sound filtering through the door into the hallway.

“I feel bad for whoever’s bunking with him,” Nixon says casually. “Not going to get any sleep with that coughing.”

Spina and Heffron exchange looks and Nixon hopes it wasn’t Heffron sharing that room because the thought makes him queasy. He turns to leave as Spina asks Heffron if he can bunk on the floor of the room Babe’s sharing with Leibgott. Nixon walks around the side of the building with a smirk on his face he can’t get rid of.

An hour later, he slips inside Gene’s room and takes a minute to stare down at him, curled on his side under the covers. He’s never really seen the man sleeping before and he looks young. Too young to be fighting in a war, though Nix reckons he could say that about a lot of them.

He knows he should let Gene sleep but can’t resist sitting down on the side of the bed and running his hand up and down his back. It’s warm, so unlike the last time Nixon touched him. 

Gene stirs beneath his hands, and turns sleepily. “Hey, Lew.” 

There’s this lump in his throat he has to swallow around. “I didn’t know you were sick,” Nixon says softly. “How’re you feeling?”

Gene coughs weakly. “Been better. Also been worse so…”

He looks worse, Nixon thinks; not sure what to do, he does what his mother used to when he wasn’t feeling well – he runs his hand across Gene’s forehead, his fingers lingering longer than they really need to. “Anything I can do?”

When Gene asks for whiskey, a lightness appears in Nixon’s chest and he gladly hands his flask over. Gene takes a few swallows, his pale face getting just a hint of color. 

“Mind if I…?” Nixon asks, gesturing towards the bed. 

Without speaking, Gene shifts over and Nixon climbs in, laying as close as he dares. He’s just starting to relax when Gene sits up without warning, breathing hard.

“Jesus, Gene, what is it?”

“Spina,” Gene pants, ignoring Nixon’s hands trying to pull him back down. “Didn’t know –”

“I made the suggestion he sleep somewhere else tonight,” Nixon says. “All this coughing will just keep him up.”

“Isn’t that weird coming from you?” 

“A few of us were standing down the hallway and could hear you. I cracked a joke. Don’t worry, Gene.”

Gene relaxes back into the bed, eyes closed, and Nixon waits as long as he can to ask the question that’s been burning to come out. “Has Heffron been around?”

Opening his eyes, Gene gazes at Nixon with a surprised look. “No. Does it matter?”

“It shouldn’t.” He doesn’t intend to say the words aloud, but they come out anyway. And that’s when Gene surprises him by pulling him closer and sliding thin fingers through his hair. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Lew,” he whispers. 

Nuzzling against Gene’s neck and feeling a warmth spread through him that really shouldn’t be there, Nixon says, “I want to kiss you.”

“You don’t want to do that. You might catch what I have.”

“Maybe I don’t care.”

Gene laughs. “Something tells me you’re an awful patient so… no.”

But Nixon doesn’t worry because a few seconds later he’s pressing his lips against Gene’s, and he knows he won.

Later, as he’s walking back to his room, he realizes how deeply involved he’s gotten. How much he’s starting to care and how that can’t be a good thing. 

Because there’s always going to be red heads between them.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s been weeks. _Weeks_ of nothing other than creepily watching Gene from across the room or across the road and one night he decides to do something about it.

Knowing one has to be careful versus actually being careful is a fine line but he’s got this, he thinks as he walks up to a group of men standing on a street corner. Gene’s laughing softly at Luz’s impression of Dike (that will never get old, Nixon thinks, grinning), and when his eyes meet Nixon’s they soften.

It’s been so long.

The men are still laughing over Luz when Nixon stops next to Gene.

“Can I borrow you for a minute, Doc?” he asks, rubbing the small of his own back slowly because he may as well make it believable. “Got a bump on my back, boil maybe.”

Gene stares at him carefully, the corner of his mouth twitching. “A boil isn’t good, sir.”

Nixon grimaces. “Not at all.”

The men are still talking quietly, not really paying attention to the two, but as Nix turns to leave he notices Heffron smiling at Gene.

Nixon opens up the door to his room and Gene steps in, his eyes going wide as he takes in the lavish bedroom with it’s adjoining bathroom.

“Jesus,” Gene murmurs as Nixon reaches behind him to lock the door.

“You should see the hotels in Chicago. Though Germany certainly has it’s charms.” He watches, smiling, as Gene walks around the room, picking up the little knickknacks.

“I forgot you’re a rich kid, Lew,” Gene answers, throwing a smirk that’s close to rivaling any smirk Nixon has ever given. Nix is kind of proud. And if he’s being honest – it’s a turn on.

“You don’t seem too concerned about my problem,” he says, pushing himself off the door and taking a few steps closer.

Gene’s eyes widen. “You were telling the truth?” he asks.

Nixon steps closer. “No. It’s just, ah… been a few weeks.” He finds his heart’s beating incredibly fast, almost fluttering, and when Gene moves closer and whispers he should take a look, Nix realizes he can’t hear the individual beats anymore – it’s just a low thrum.

Now Nixon has been with a fair amount of women (and a few men) in his life, but he can’t ever remember not being able to breathe while being touched by one of them. There’s something about the medic’s hands and his eyes and the way he doesn’t hold anything back that makes Nixon lightheaded.

Gene slides Nix’s shirt off, making sure to touch every inch of available skin on the way. His shirt slides to the floor with a whisper and Nixon shivers when Gene steps closer and reaches around to run his hands along his back.

“No boil,” he says in a low voice, making Nixon chuckle which seems to break the spell.

“Thanks for checking, Doc.” He doesn’t wait any longer, literally can’t wait, and he pushes Gene back until his legs hit the bed, then pushes harder until they’re both horizontal. Nixon finds he can breathe now, and quite loudly, when he straddles Gene’s hips and presses in.

He realizes what it is that draws him to Gene. The man really doesn’t ever hold back. Not in anger, not in sadness, and definitely not now. He doesn’t hesitate to push up with his hips as Nix pushes down with his, and Nix loses his mind a little when Gene pulls at his hair hard enough to hurt.

“I want to touch you,” he whispers against the medic’s lips, and his fingers can’t move fast enough for him – they fumble against the buttons on Gene’s pants and it feels like forever until he gets them open. And it’s killing him a little bit because Gene whimpers and shakes like he wants Nixon to touch him and when he finally does – “Oh my god,” Gene whispers.

Nixon pulls at his own trousers, surprised when Gene swats his hands away and does the job himself but it gives him an excuse to lean down and suck softly against Gene’s shoulder. 

But then nothing else matters because Gene’s warm hand is wrapped around his dick and they’re both pulling and breathing each other in, and Nixon can’t remember the last time he was so desperate for release. He wants it to last forever but wants it right now – words don’t make sense, he’s struck dumb, and when Gene sinks his teeth into this earlobe, his world turns inside out.

Afterwards, laying heavily on the man and probably crushing him, he lets out a long, long breath and slowly comes back to reality. 

“You ok?” he whispers, lifting his head. 

Gene’s staring up at the ceiling and he blinks slowly. “Yeah. You?”

“I don’t know,” Nixon admits honestly. “Mind is blown.”

Gene laughs softly, and Nixon rolls to the side, laying on his back to stare up at the ceiling, too. 

“You ever done that with a man before?” Gene asks, turning to look at Nixon. “I haven’t.”

“Twice. Once in boarding school and the other in college.”

Gene makes a small noise in the back of his throat and Nixon feels like he has to explain. 

“I was fifteen the first time,” he says, leaning across Gene to grab his cigarettes off the bedside table. “He was seventeen, and pulled me into a closet. Most bizarre fifteen minutes of my life.”

“Is that how you knew?” 

“Knew what?”

“That you didn’t like women?”

Nixon laughs and exhales a large amount of smoke. “I like women. I think I just like men more.”

They’re both quiet, and eventually Gene reaches over and takes his cigarette. “I thought maybe it started with Winters,” he says, taking a drag before handing it back. 

It’s a good question, actually. “I mean, no, but sort of. Those other two were… nothing to what this is.”

Gene stares at him carefully. “’This’? You mean Winters, right?”

He realizes what he’s just said and his heart beats faster. “I’ve never been with Dick like this.” His mouth seems to be metaphorically sewn shut and he averts his gaze from Gene’s. 

Two emotions are warring through him – embarrassment for saying something so open and maybe a little wounded that Gene hasn’t responded yet. He doesn’t feel bad for saying it though. Because it’s all true no matter how much he might like to deny it. 

He stubs his cigarette out and isn’t prepared for Gene to roll over so he’s half on top of him, but when Gene presses his lips to his, he’s ready. 

They kiss languidly, Nixon running his hands up and down Gene’s bare back and afterwards, when Gene pulls away and starts buttoning up his clothes, Nixon wonders if that was Gene responding to him.


	7. Chapter 7

He’s happy for a while. Lighthearted would be the word. Even Dick notices, asks what’s up a few times but Nixon always blames it on the weather. There’s a saying – something about good times not lasting or some kind of shit like that – and when it happens, it comes like a goddamn tornado.

The morning he gets the letter is when it all starts. He wakes up with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach he can’t explain other than something’s coming.

At breakfast, Gene accidentally bumps into him, saying “Excuse me, sir,” with an impish grin that makes the hard pit in Nix’s stomach lessen just a tiny bit. He ignores the urge to grab Gene’s hand and hold on tight. The medic must see something in his expression because his eyebrows draw together and he takes a step closer before remembering where they are.

Nixon gets a letter during breakfast and the writing on the envelope is Cathy’s. He hasn’t heard from her in a few weeks, figured she’d given up writing him since he never responds, and something tells him the letter doesn’t hold good news.

His hands shake slightly as he tears the envelope open and scans the letter quickly, disbelief and anger slowly flowing through me.

“Nix? You ok?” Dick’s walking beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder. “What’s up?”

“She’s divorcing me,” he says quietly, a little shocked that his voice didn’t come out in a yell because he’s so fucking angry right now. “Cathy’s divorcing me.”

Dick stills beside him, his hand still clutching Nixon’s shoulder and Nix doesn’t want to be touched right now but he can’t seem to make his brain work. “Lew –”

“She’s leaving,” he says, scanning the letter again, able to read the anger through the prettily printed letters. “And she’s taking the dog.” His voice is growing louder and he’s making a scene but he doesn’t fucking care. “She’s taking my dog!”

The men around them have gone quiet and Nixon takes his helmet off and throws it in the back of the jeep.

Fuming, he climbs into the jeep, stretching out as much as he can in the cramped seat. She’s taking the kid too, the son he barely knows, and the house and his goddamn dog. Somewhere deep, deep down he can’t blame her – he’s a shitty husband and maybe she deserves someone better. He shouldn’t even be mad that she’s done it by letter.

The trucks are rolling further east into Germany and the landscape should take his breath away but he barely sees it. Instead he hears a song strike up from the troop truck behind him…

_He ain’t gonna jump no more!_

He smirks and pulls in a deep breath.

“… what a helluva way to die.”

\-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -

He finds he wanders a lot now. There’s no danger, not really, and he can’t sit still. Can’t really think about anything concrete for more than a few minutes before he’s pulled back into this depressive slump he’s been in since getting the letter. 

And Vat 69. It’s like the Krauts took every fucking bottle with them when they left – he can’t find it anywhere. 

And then Dick comes to him one afternoon and tells him he’s been demoted. It’s just the icing on the fucking cake. Though honestly, he doesn’t really care. At least it gets him away from HQ and all those kiss-asses.

The world’s falling apart, he thinks at least a hundred times a day. Gene hasn’t crossed his mind in days – there’s no room for him right now. There’s no room for anything other than staying as drunk as possible. 

They’re in one of those picture postcard perfect German villages when Perconte comes up to Dick, hands moving in a fluttering motion that is unlike him. He can’t form words, stutters for a moment before Dick puts a hand on his shoulder and tells him to take a deep breath. 

Nix lights a cigarette and hears the words “some kind of camp, I don’t know, sir” and he thinks of the reports he’s seen throughout the war. 

They can’t be near one, he thinks wildly. The men don’t need to see it. 

They get in a jeep and on the outskirts of town Dick stops next to Gene and Heffron, tells Gene to get in. He does it without question, climbing in the back with Nix and pressing their knees together. 

A rush of something like relief goes through him when they catch gazes. He didn’t realize how much he’s missed the medic. 

They turn down a dirt road leading into the forest and everything feels still, no wind, no movement, no nothing. Nixon stares straight ahead, eyes peeled for whatever it is Perconte saw. But then a hand rests on his knee and he glances down to see Gene holding on to him, like the medic can sense the bad feeling in the air and he needs the support. Nix wants so much to cover that hand with his own but before he even has time to think about it, they round a corner and his mouth falls open. 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes. 

It’s crazy, insane – stuff nightmares are made of. 

He’s never seen Dick so quiet before, never seen his lips pursed so tightly together it’s like they’re not even there.

Afterwards, back in his room staring at the fireplace with a glass of inferior whiskey in his hand, he wonders what the fuck is going on. 

The door opens behind him and he doesn’t have to turn to know who it is. A lump starts growing in his throat and he can’t swallow it away, not this time. “Hey, Gene,” he says thickly.

Cold hands grasp his waist before sliding to his front, and a solid chest presses against his back. Tears fill his eyes for the first time since he was a child and he pulls in a deep breath, leaning against Gene.

He wants to tell him he’s missed him, and he’s sorry – he’s not sure what he’s sorry for but he’s sure there are reasons. There are always reasons for that. 

Gene leans his forehead against the back of Nixon’s neck and Nix shivers. Gene must feel the shiver because he holds on tighter. 

They stay that way for a long time, long enough that the fire dies down and the cold from outside starts seeping in under the doorway. Feeling unsteady on his feet for lots of reasons, Nixon turns in Gene’s embrace and wraps his own arms around the man’s slight shoulders. 

They continue to not speak, just look at one another and finally, _finally_ , Nixon’s able to swallow back the lump in his throat. Maybe it’s the way Gene’s looking at him or maybe it’s the fact that someone cares enough to hold him – it doesn’t matter really. 

Nixon leans in and kisses Gene, a soft press of lips that means much more than it should, and Nixon tightens his arms and pulls him in closer. 

They kiss for a while, and Nix doesn’t want it to end. He wants to wrap Gene up and take him to bed and hold on for all he’s worth. “Stay with me,” he whispers against Gene’s mouth. He doesn’t want to sound needy but he knows he does anyway. 

“Lew,” Gene murmurs, pulling back to look him in the eyes, “I can’t. I gotta get back.”

Part of him wants to argue but he bites his tongue and whispers, “Ok,” and let’s Gene go.


	8. Chapter 8

“Nix, Sink wants to see you.”

Nixon opens his eyes, annoyed at the interruption. It’s just past dawn and he’d been sleeping off the bottle of wine he’d drunk the night before. He stares blurry eyed at Dick – “What?”

“Sink wants to see you,” he says quietly, sitting at the edge of the bed and looking at him cautiously. “At 0700. You should get up.”

“Shit,” he mutters, covering his eyes with his hand and hoping when he looks Dick will be gone. “What time is it?”

“0630.”

Nix sits up slowly and runs a hand through his hair. Lighting a cigarette, he stands and goes to the window to look out at the Austrian countryside (which takes his breath away, even now.)

“Do you know what it’s about?” Dick asks quietly, coming to stand beside Nix with his hands on his hips.

“I’ll find out soon enough.” They stand in silence while Nixon smokes, and once he puts his cigarette out he heads towards the bathroom.

“Lew –”

“Dick,” he says, not turning around but pausing at the door, “I’m fine. Just let me shower.”

There’s a long sigh but Nixon doesn’t wait to see what’s going to happen next. He heads into the bathroom and shuts the door firmly behind him.

\---------------------------------------------

“It’s in honor, Captain,” Sink says from where he sits behind his desk. “One of the only men to have three stars under his jump wings in the 101st and it’s gonna be you.”

Nixon doesn’t know what to say – he’s still trying to figure out if he’s being punished or not. “Yes, sir.”

“Jeep leaves tomorrow at 0530.” He stares long and hard at Nixon. “Do us proud, Captain. Show the 17th what we’re made of, and report back to me.”

Nixon nods as smartly as he can, says, “Yes, sir,” and turns to leave.

It is a punishment, he decides later, sitting down heavily on top of a hill and looking out across the landscape. He pulls his almost full flask out and starts sipping.

And then someone finds him. Gene sits down beside Nixon and stretches his legs out, leaning back on his hands. “Hey,” he says softly, clearing his throat softly. “I didn’t know you were married, but I’m sorry about what happened.”

Christ, he’d forgotten about that. “I never told you I have a wife. Or had, I guess,” he says slowly, wondering what else they don’t know about each other.

“What’s her name?”

“Cathy.”

Gene doesn’t say anything, his gaze on the mountains in front of them. Nix draws in a deep breath, knowing he needs to tell Gene he’s going away – he owes him that much anyway.

“I’m leaving for a few days.”

Gene turns but Nix still won’t look at him. “Where are you going?”

The alarm in Gene’s voice is apparent and Nixon finally turns. “I’m jumping into Germany.”

“What?” His voice ringing with disbelief. 

“Only man in the 101st with three stars on his jump wings. Wonderful, isn’t it?” he says sarcastically.

“But – why?” Gene sputters. “You can’t do that.”

Nixon raises his eyebrows, a little taken aback at the force behind the words. “You want to tell Sink?”

“Will it help?”

Speechless, Nix stares at Gene, overwhelmed at the emotion in the man’s words. Suddenly he feels bad for avoiding him, knows he deserves more than that. It blows him away. He leans in and rests his head against Gene’s shoulder. “Christ, I’ve never meet anyone like you before, Doc.”

The tension in Gene’s shoulder disappears and a set of lips presses briefly against his hair.

“Be careful, ok?” Gene whispers.

Nixon smirks. “I always am, Gene.”

\---------------------------------------------

Operation _Varsity_ they call it. He sits through a briefing, learns they’re jumping the next morning across the Rhine and securing a bridge. Looking at the men he’s jumping with, he’d give anything to recognize a face or two.

He’s got a tent with another officer, and he lays on his cot that night thinking about the two men who mean the most to him. Wishing he’d had more time to pine after Dick and more time to kiss Gene.

And then it hits –Gene’s somehow become something more, something he wants to wrap up and never let go. Maybe it’s the soft smiles he gives, or the way he breathed in Nixon’s ear that night in his room. Whatever it is, it’s more then he’s felt for pretty much anyone, even Cathy, and to some extent, Dick.

He closes his eyes and thinks not of a man with red hair and freckles, but one with dark hair and haunted eyes.  
\---------------------------------------------

It’s when the plane catches on fire that he’s sure he’s not going to make it. The fire builds quickly, engulfing the men one by one – there’s screaming and a general sense of chaos and the man behind him pushes him out of the burning plane. Another guy jumps but the rest burn.

Nixon lands with a thud, the early morning light spilling through his deflating parachute as he looks skyward, instinctively searching for the plane but it’s gone. Jesus Christ, all those men. But it’s not the time to think about it. Moving quickly, he unhooks his parachute and heads toward the rallying point, the rifle he’s never shot in combat slung over his shoulder.

They capture the bridge over the Rhine and before the day’s over Nixon’s in a jeep, heading back to Austria, so far removed from reality it’s almost like the past few hours never happened. 

Dick finds him when he walks in the door and follows Nix into his bedroom. 

“Didn’t know you were jumping with the 17th,” he says, leaning back against the dresser. 

Nixon grunts. 

“How’d it go?” Dick asks, his face lit up like he’s eager to hear the story and Nixon cringes because he doesn’t want to even think about it. 

“Plane caught on fire,” he says, shrugging out of his jacket and stepping to the side table to pour a glass of whiskey. “Me and two others got out.”

His face falls, lips pursed tightly together. “I’m sorry, Nix.”

Nixon lets out a long breath. “I’ve got to write letters to their families,” he says in a voice that’s full of disbelief. “I don’t even know who the hell they are.” He turns abruptly, looking at Dick for the first time. “How the fuck do you do that?”

The room grows quiet as they stare at each other, Nixon wishing Dick would go away while another part is so glad he came back to see this man even though all he can do is look. 

“You tell them what you always do,” Dick responds quietly, dropping his gaze to the ground. “They died honorably for their country.”

Nixon scoffs. “There was nothing honorable about that.”

Dick says nothing, and Nixon can’t stand it anymore. 

“I need to shower,” he says and starts to unbutton his shirt, hoping Dick notices the dismissal. 

He does, but not before turning at the door one last time. “Do you need food or –”

“Dick,” he says impatiently, “I’m fine.”

He relishes the silence, stands without moving except for the gentle up and down motion of his arm as he sips from his glass. But something close to anger floods through him when someone knocks on the door, slowly swinging it open. 

“Goddammit Dick, I said I –” but then he stops. It isn’t Dick. “Doc.”

Gene steps further into the room, his face cautious. “You ok, Lew?”

“Go away Gene,” Nixon says, pouring another drink because he damn well deserves it. “Please.”

“I’ve got to make sure you’re ok,” Gene says, his voice hard. He hesitates though, and when he says Winters made him, Nixon turns, gripping his glass hard.

“Gene, right now I don’t give a fuck what Winters or anyone else wants. Leave me alone.” A flash of hurt goes across Gene’s features and Nixon sighs. “Please,” he says in an attempt to take the edge off his words. 

But Gene doesn’t move and neither does Nixon – until he slams his glass down on the table. “Goddammit Gene –”

“Fine,” he says, throwing his hands up. “I’m going, Lew. You know where to find me.”

He watches Gene leave the room, too angry to even feel bad. 

\---------------------------------------------

So maybe it was a bad idea to have that many drinks, he thinks later as his room swirls around him and Harry and Speirs’ heads seem to be floating as they play cards. He hasn’t been talking, just slowly and steadily drinking since dinner, and when Gene comes up in conversation he finds himself talking.

“I like Gene,” he slurs, tipping his glass back to finish his whiskey. “He’s … somethin’ else.”

He doesn’t notice Harry and Speirs watching him carefully, glancing at one another every few seconds.

“Nix, I think you need to stop drinking for the night,” Harry says, reaching for his empty glass but Nixon pulls it closer to his chest.

“’m fine,” he says, standing on unsteady legs and pouring another drink. “Gene should be here. He’s nice to have around, y’know? Somethin’ about his voice, I think.”

“Soothing, isn’t it?” Speirs says quietly.

“Ron, maybe –” Harry starts but Speirs cuts him off.

“We should go,” he says, standing and looking at Harry with that look that’s scared a whole hell of a lot of men before.

“Ron, he shouldn’t –”

Nix watches blurrily as Speirs opens the door to his room and gestures for Harry to follow – he’s pretty sure Harry doesn’t want to go but he’s too drunk to argue for him.

They leave him alone, closing the door softly after them, and he stares out the window into the dark night, looking at his expression in the glass – he looks like shit, imagines this is how he looked during Bastogne. Thinking of Bastogne brings to mind the conversation he had with Gene after he pulled the splinter out of Nixon’s palm, and he wonders if he asked the question now, would he get the same answer? Does it even matter to him what answer he gets?

He’s not sure how long he spends staring out the window, but at one point the door opens. He turns and feels his body melt into the chair when Gene steps into the room.

He sits down on the bed and looks at Nixon cautiously. “Hey, you ok?”

Nix grins. “I’m drunk, so yeah I guess I am.”

Gene reaches across and puts his hand on Nix’s knee. “Lew –”

“You remember that night in Bastogne?” Nixon asks, needing to get his thoughts out. “When I asked if you thought I disappointed Dick?”

“Yeah,” Gene says, nodding solemnly, “I do.”

“You told me I couldn’t do anything to disappoint him. But I’ve stooped to a new low, Gene,” he says, laughing softly. “You want to know the funniest part though? It’s not _him_ I’m afraid of disappointing. Not anymore.”

He thinks Gene freezes, it’s hard to tell because he can’t actually see straight. “Lew, I…”

Nixon _really_ doesn’t want to hear whatever it is Gene’s about to say, so he drops his glass and climbs into his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. “I like you, Gene,” he says before pushing him back onto the bed and curling up against his side.

He lets himself relax, his eyes heavy and tired and just as he’s drifting off he hears Gene murmur something, but it’s lost in a drunken haze.


	9. Chapter 9

Nixon wakes slowly, disoriented and wondering why there’s a warm mass cuddled against his side. His head feels twenty pounds heavier and his mouth is dry; it actually hurts when he turns his gaze to the side and meets Gene’s eyes.

“Morning,” Gene says so softly it’s almost a whisper, and Nixon has to strain to hear it over the pounding in his head.

“Is it even morning yet?” he groans, moving in closer to lay his head on Gene’s shoulder and attempt to remember why Gene’s in his bed.

“It’s close,” Gene says, laughing.

“I’d ask what you’re doing here but I think I remember.” Flashes come back slowly – Speirs and Harry and a card game, staring out the window, and the door opening. Whispered confessions of just how much a certain someone might mean to him.

“Speirs brought me over. Said you were drunk and left you in my lap. Not sure why he picked me,” Gene says, his eyebrows pinched in confusion.

And then it _all_ comes back and he has to hide his face in Gene’s neck because he’s sure he’s blushing and Lewis Nixon doesn’t blush. “I think I mentioned you a few times. Drunk, y’know?”

“Jesus, Lew. What’d you say?” Gene asks impatiently.

He shoves his face harder against Gene’s neck and groans. “Would you believe me if I said I don’t remember?”

“No,” he says immediately.

Nixon doesn’t respond and Gene sighs. He realizes he’s going to have to say it.

“I said I liked it when you’re around,” he says. He lifts his head from Gene’s shoulder and looks at him steadily, cheeks blazing. “Speirs must’ve read between the lines.”

A flash of something goes across Gene’s face but before Nixon can decipher it Gene leans closer and kisses him softly. “You’ve got to pull yourself together, Lew,” he says seriously. “I know you’re going through some shit right now but – you’ve got to.”

Nix doesn’t know what to say. He’s never had someone speak so directly to him like this before. His parents brushed everything under the carpet, Cathy just didn’t know what to do with him, and Dick – Dick always lets him do whatever the hell he wanted. Not that it’s a bad thing, but it’s comforting to have someone holding him accountable. And even more heartening that it’s Gene.

Gene runs his fingers through Nix’s hair, pulling softly at the thick strands. “You’ve got me, y’know?”

“I’m never sure if I actually do,” he says honestly, sick of beating around the bush about what they’re doing. “There always seem to be red heads between us.”

He’s not sure what he’s hoping will happen – maybe Gene will laugh it off or say he has to go, or maybe he’ll tell Nix what he wants to hear. 

“My preference for red heads has kinda disappeared,” Gene admits, grinning softly. 

The feeling of relief is almost too intense, and Nix laughs. He pulls and pushes until he’s between Gene’s legs, bodies pressed tight and his hands sliding through Gene’s dark hair. 

“So no more red heads?” he breathes.

“Nah,” Gene answers, his voice shaking and it makes Nixon grin because _he’s_ the cause of it. “I think I prefer drunk, black-haired men now.”

He’s almost giddy, and his fingers can’t move fast enough to get Gene’s shirt off. “Me too,” he says. “So you should drink more, Doc.”

This time is different than the others – they strip all the way down, bare skin against bare skin, and Jesus, he almost loses his mind when Gene bites down on his shoulder so hard it stings. Nix’s pulling slowly, pacing himself, but that bite – his dick is so hard it almost hurts. 

“C’mon, Eugene,” he begs, “with me, please,” because he wants the man to lose control and wants to experience it with him. 

And then Gene sucks at his lower lip and they come, trembling against each other and Nixon clenches his fingers in the pillow, knuckles white, to keep from saying things he really shouldn’t say. 

\---------------------------------------------

It gives him pleasure to be sitting on the porch of Hitler’s Eagle Nest, sipping from a glass of Vat 69. He looks around at the men, Dick sitting on the arm of Nix’s chair, Harry in the seat next to them, then Ron and Lip – the only person missing from this scene to make it perfect is Gene, but Nixon’s the only one to notice it.

It’s a lighthearted moment – the real end of the war for them, at least it feels that way to Nixon. He’s just settling deeper into his seat when Dick nudges his shoulder.

“Come on,” he says, standing and gesturing towards the door. Nixon opens his mouth to whine but Dick shuts him up with, “It’ll be worth it, Nix.”

Dick leads the way downstairs and outside, makes a few turns and stops at a large house Nix knows is Goring’s. There’s a sentry standing outside a door around the back of the house, and it catches his attention – there must be something good on the other side of the wall.

Dick pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks the door, and gestures for Nixon to follow him. “C’mon.” He’s got this Nixon-esque smirk on his face.

“Dick, what the hell is down here?” Nixon asks, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer.

He doesn’t answer, but opens another set of doors at the bottom of the steps. It’s dark, and Nixon steps carefully inside. The lights pop on and Nixon’s jaw drops.

So. Much. Wine. Tunnels in every direction with shelves full of bottles. He’s never seen so much alcohol in one place before.

“Dick… what, I mean…” He stops because words have failed him.

“Found it this morning,” Dick says, stepping up beside him. “No one else knows it’s here. And I’ll have an armed guard at the door till you’re done.”

He doesn’t know what to say. It’s the best present he’s ever received in his entire life. Nothing has, or will, top it. Turning to his friend, he tries to smile. “Dick, I … I don’t know what to say.”

Dick smiles. “No need to say anything. Take as much as you want.” He claps Nixon’s shoulder and Nix can’t help but pull the man in for a hug. It’s something he’s wanted to do since OCS but never had the nerve because having Dick this close would’ve been dangerous. But now it’s different, a _good_ different, and he holds tight for a second before releasing him. “Thanks, Major.”

\--------------------------------------------- 

He waits a few hours before sending a runner for Gene – it’s hard to stop looking at all the bottles.

Gene shows up a few minutes later, looking concerned, but Nix doesn’t let him speak. Instead he grabs his hand and pulls him to the door.

“Lew, what’s going on?” he asks as they take the stairs down to the cellar.

Nixon turns and pulls Gene close, runs his lips along his jaw and smiles when the man shivers. “You ready?”

“I don’t know – am I?”

He can’t wait any longer – he opens the door, his gaze not on the tunnels full of liquor but (and his cheeks burn because how sappy can he get?) on the beautiful face of Eugene Roe. “Jesus Christ, Nix,” he breathes.

Nixon grabs the nearest bottle, holding it almost reverently. “Dick found it. Amazing sight, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen you so excited,” Gene says. He runs his fingers across the dusty label and Nixon grins.

“Probably because I’ve never seen a wine collection like this before. Goring’s personal stash,” he says, putting the bottle back. And perhaps it’s the euphoria of the day, but he grabs Gene and pulls him close. “Ever done it in a wine cellar before?”

Gene raises his eyebrows. “What? Lew, we can’t –”

He rolls his eyes, wondering why Gene bothers to try and stop him. Backing him up until he hits the wall, Nixon smirks and drops his hands to Gene’s trousers. “Who says we can’t? No one knows we’re down here, the door’s locked. How much more privacy do you need, Doc?” His voice has gone low and husky and Gene stares back at him with fire in his eyes. 

Nixon can’t say he’s ever wanted to get on his knees for anyone before, except Winters in a dream world, but it’s all he thinks about as they kiss and touch and grasp at one another. And he feels a lot better about it when Gene whimpers once he realizes what it is he's is doing. 

It’s one of those moments he’s not likely to forget.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s one of those afternoons where everything seems perfect – perfect weather, perfect landscape, perfect man sleeping on the shore by the lake. No one else is around, and since he’d been on the lookout for him anyway, Nixon heads that way.

Gene’s lying on his back, hands behind his head and he must be in a deep sleep because he doesn’t move as Nixon gets closer and hunkers down beside him. Nix takes a moment to look, eyes roving over the medic’s relaxed features, and the way his stomach goes up and down with his breathing. He really wants to wake Gene up by running his hands under his shirt, but anyone could come by.

(He can’t wait for the day he can do such a thing without worry of being found out.)

“Wake up,” he says, his voice low, but Gene doesn’t move – he merely grunts. Nixon grasps his shoulder and shakes it softly. “C’mon, Doc, wake up.” The next second he’s got to move back before Gene head-butts him, he sits up so fast. “Wha–?”

“Hey,” Nix says, grabbing onto his shoulder again. “It’s ok, it’s just me.”

Gene shakes minutely against Nixon, and after a moment lays his head on Nix’s shoulder. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I thought we were in Bastogne for a second there.”

“Too hot for Belgium,” Nix replies, sitting down heavily and pulling his flask out. “Hell of a view,” he says, his eyes looking past the blue lake and towards the mountains with their snowcapped peaks.

“We’ve seen a lot of them,” Gene says softly, lighting a cigarette and blowing the smoke towards the sky.

“You have a favorite?”

“That first jump – the horizon,” Gene says immediately. “Not sure I’ll ever forget that.”

Nixon thinks back to his first jump – probably the same one Gene’s talking about. It’s an amazingly clear picture in his head. “Yeah, that’s a good one.”

“What about you?”

“Ahh, I don’t know,” he replies, leaning back to the look at the sky and thinking of every time he’s had Gene in his arms, or in his bed, or hell, even just looking at him. “I keep thinking I’ve picked a favorite but, well… they just keep getting better.”

Gene presses his arm against Nixon’s, and Nix gratefully presses back. Sometimes just a small touch here and there curbs the hunger that’s always around where Gene is concerned.

“I’ve got the house to myself tonight,” he says softly.

“Oh yeah? How’d that happen?” Gene asks, a smile in his words.

He could tell him that Dick’s taking off with Sink to a Battalion gathering and Speirs is heading back to England for a few days, but really, in the long run it doesn’t matter. “Not sure. I’d be inclined to call it a miracle.”

“I’ve heard they can happen, miracles,” Gene says.

He can’t take the suspense anymore, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to his question. “You going to do something with that information I just passed on?”

“I’ll see you tonight.”

Nixon smiles. “Good.”

They sit together on the shore of the lake a few minutes longer, arms pressed lightly together, and every time the wind blows, Nixon presses closer in.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

Nixon’s drunk by the time Gene comes in. He hands him a glass of whiskey. “You smell like wine,” he says, leaning in close to take a deep breath. “Smells good.”

“It’s your leftovers from Goring’s house,” Gene says, laughing. But it isn’t a normal laugh, and Nixon peers closely at him.

“Is Doc drunk already?” he asks playfully.

Gene downs half his glass in one gulp. “Tipsy maybe. Not drunk yet.”

Nixon sips at his own drink, and they stare at one another. He watches Gene finish his drink, and once the glass is on the side table, Nixon lets go.

Later, he wonders if he pushed Gene too hard against the door – the thump seemed to echo around the room – but at the time, he couldn’t push him hard enough. Gene gives it back just as hard though. Nix uses to hips to keep the man against the door, and while he had a plan that involved the bed, there’s no time to get there.

He’s more interested in pulling at the buttons on Gene’s shirt and fumbling with different buttons on his pants because God, he just wants to touch him.

It’s quick and fierce – within minutes they’re gasping into each other’s mouths and Nixon whispers Gene’s name over and over, like a record stuck on the same loop; the words leave his mouth in time with his hips grinding against Gene’s groin.

Afterwards, barely holding one another up, Nixon grins against the medic’s lips, chuckling softly, and Gene holds on tight when Nix drags him to the bed.

Sometime later, could be minutes or hours, Gene lights a cigarette and stares at Nix with a smile on his lips.

“What?” Nix asks, turning his head to look at him.

“Why me?” he asks quietly.

“Why you?” Nixon repeats his words to waste some time because it is a good question – why _him?_ He thinks back to the night before _Varsity_ and all those thoughts that rolled around his head and he opens his mouth. “It’s because it’s you, I guess,” he says softly, rolling over onto his side so he can look at Gene comfortably. “It’s the way you talk to me and how you do things and the way you treat the men.” His words dry up and he watches as a smile starts at the corner of Gene’s lips.

“Am I just a replacement for Major Winters?” he asks after a moment, biting his lower lip.

Nixon huffs, and takes a long sip of his whiskey. “Maybe at first,” he says truthfully. “Though really, I can’t say why I kissed you that first time. Seemed like a good idea, I guess.”

“Was it because you thought you could since, well… Heffron?”

“Maybe.” Suddenly it seems important that Gene knows how Nix feels _now._ “I may have impulsively kissed you that night, and again the next night and then the next morning and maybe even for a few weeks after that but – now I do it because I want to.” He pulls in a deep breath. “I need to, I guess. You’re part of my life now, Doc.”

Gene doesn’t say anything – maybe he’s processing Nixon’s words, or thinking out an equally heart-wrenching reply – so Nixon settles back and waits. He knows Gene will speak when he’s ready to. 

“I thought I was gonna throw up that night in Haguenau,” Gene says eventually. He sits up and pours whiskey into two glasses and hands one to Nix. “And before that, I kept wondering why you were always around. No matter where I turned, there you were. It didn’t make sense.”

Nix smirks. “I only found you on purpose twice. You make it sound like I was stalking you.”

“It kinda felt like you were,” Gene says, laughing. 

“Well it turned out to be a good thing, yeah?” Nix asks, sliding his arm over until it’s lying underneath Gene’s head and he’s pulling the man closer. 

“Yeah, I guess it did,” Gene says softly. He looks at Nix with those dark eyes and Nix looks back at him and it feels like it’s starting all over again. 

“You should finish your drink,” Nixon whispers, stomach fluttering very pleasantly. 

Gene sucks in a deep breath and grins. “You should finish yours too, Captain.”

This time feels different. More intense, even kind of desperate, and when Nixon rolls Gene onto his back and opens his legs, all he can think about is burying himself inside the man. It’s all he wants. 

Gene’s breathing heavily underneath him when Nix pushes in, warm heat enveloping him and scrambling his mind. “Gene,” he pants, starting to move, “you – you’re so tight… I don’t want to stop.” He’s begging silently for Gene to tell him to keep going because he doesn’t think he can actually stop now that he’s here.

“Lew,” Gene gasps, and pushes his hips back slowly and that’s all Nix needs to keep going. 

He thrusts in and out, pulls Gene to his knees so he can wrap his hand around his half hard cock because he wants Gene to come with him. He _needs_ it. 

Nixon lays on Gene’s back, presses his forehead against his shoulder blade as he moves – they’re gasping and shaking and the world’s gone white as they come together and it’s one of those moments that should last forever. 

Afterwards, holding Gene close and breathing in the scent of smoke and whiskey and sweat, he realizes how much he wants this to last forever. It’s a vain hope, one that can’t come true for so many god-awful reasons, and Nix finds himself holding the medic tighter, afraid to let go.


	11. Chapter 11

He goes home to an empty house and an unsatisfying job and Christ it’s so cold in Jersey in early December. He goes to bed every night shivering and wakes up shivering and even the alcohol doesn’t warm him like it used to.

He isn’t stupid, doesn’t expect everything to go back to normal now that he’s not in the Army anymore, especially since he left a wife and child at home. And now they’re gone, and it feels like they never really existed. If Cathy hadn’t left behind his son’s baby furniture, Nix might think it’d been a figment of his imagination. He can’t even remember what his son looks like – does does he favor Cathy with her soft features and light brown hair? Or does he look like his father?

Does he even _remember_ Nixon?

What gets him through the quiet evenings alone in a house that’s too big is thoughts of a certain dark haired medic. He lies in bed at night and remembers how it felt to have Gene on top of him, or below him, or next to him, or hell, even just looking at him.

He never thought he’d want to go back to the hell that is war but if it means he gets to be with Eugene Roe, it would be worth it.

Dick calls him every week from Pennsylvania, and Nix gets the feeling Dick’s making sure he’s still alive. It’s bullshit, really, but he answers the phone every time. He can’t leave Dick hanging like that, and besides, the man would take the first train to Nixon, New Jersey if he didn’t answer. He’s no doubt of that.

The person he _really_ wants to hear from never calls though.

Some nights, a full glass of Vat 69 in his hand and his ass in a comfy chair in the library, he loses himself in memories, lets himself go and really live it.

_They step into an abandoned church, Nixon closing the door softly behind them. Gene walks further inside, his eyes roaming around the cavernous hall._

_Knowing this might well be the last time, Nixon doesn’t hesitate to push Gene into one of the pews still standing, to keep pushing until Gene’s sitting and Nix is straddling and they’re kissing slow and deep. He tries to commit every moment to memory (it’s the breathing he’ll remember the most.) Gene’s breath is warm against his neck and his hands leave trails of heat along Nix’s skin as they push aside clothing and hold just a little bit tighter to each other._

_Afterwards, he pushes aside Gene’s hands and buttons up the man’s shirt, smirking at the dark spot on his neck. He leans in closer. “You might want to cover this up, Doc,” he whispers, running a finger across the mark._

_Gene rolls his eyes. “Really? Again?”_

_“I may have been over enthusiastic.”_

_“Obviously. How bad is it?”_

_Nix hesitates. “Um… not bad.”_

_“You’re a shit liar, Lew.”_

_They smile at one another, and suddenly there’s this ache deep in Nixon’s chest and he pulls Gene to him. They hug tightly and Nix takes a few deep, deep breaths. It hurts more than he thought it would._

_The sun’s low in the sky when they part at the church door, and Nixon only turns around once after walking away._

\--------------------------------------------- 

He gets the picture in the mail two days before Christmas. Harry sends a note along – _thought this one turned out nice_ – and after staring at it for a second he puts it down and pours a drink. 

Once the whiskey burns low in his stomach, he picks the photograph up and looks closely. 

They’re on a hillside, backs to the camera, and Nixon’s smiling at Gene in a side profile and he looks happy. He wonders how long it’s been since he’s smiled like that. 

He takes the photo to work the next morning and tells his secretary to get a copy made of it. He likes Nancy – she doesn’t ask questions. By four that afternoon, he’s got two copies. 

Sitting at his desk in his quiet office, he pulls out a sheet of paper and writes a letter. Halfway through, he calls Nancy in and asks her to get a train ticket from Baton Rouge to New Jersey. An hour later the train ticket, the photograph and the completed letter are sitting on his desk. He calls the VA and gets Gene’s address, and after rereading the letter a couple hundred times (and using some will power to keep from saying he might be in love and he might not be able to live without him because Lewis Nixon doesn’t want to be seen as desperate), he puts the envelope in the outgoing mail. 

And now he waits. 

\--------------------------------------------- 

The week between Christmas and New Year’s stretches out, feels like half a year instead of a week. He thought maybe Gene might call to say he’s coming, or he’s not coming, but the phone never rings. 

He goes to see Cathy and his son on Christmas, holds the bouncing three year old on his knee and tries to put on a happy face while Cathy sits across the room, her expression anxious. He wonders if she thinks he’ll drop the kid. And now he’s wondering if he’ll drop him, so he stands and gives him back. 

“Are you all right, Lewis?” Cathy asks, holding their son tight as he scrambles to get off her lap. 

“I’m fine. Do you – I mean, are you two ok?” He feels awkward asking, but manners dictate he should. “Do you need money –”

“Stop,” she says harshly, finally letting their son down, who immediately runs to the pile of opened presents under the tree. “We’re fine. My father’s been – there’s nothing to worry about Lew.”

Not knowing what to say, he stands in front of her, watching his son play with the toy trucks Nixon bought him. He realizes he looks just like him, and he wonders if Cathy resents having to be reminded of him every time she looks at her son.

He gives his child one last hug and awkwardly pats his ex-wife on the arm before heading back to his empty house to wait some more. 

\--------------------------------------------- 

The last day of the year arrives and he’s a nervous wreck. He thinks about leaving work early (the train isn’t scheduled to arrive until six) but he knows he can’t sit in the house by himself all afternoon. So he sips steadily from a glass of whiskey after lunch, and when Nancy pops in to tell him he should head to the train station, he’s surprised how the floor wobbles underneath his feet. 

He arrives at the station a few minutes before the train arrives. There aren’t a lot of people waiting, not yet anyway, and Nix turns towards the wall to take a sip from his flask. His hands shake as he raises the flask to his lips, and from far away a train whistle rolls across the landscape. 

There’s time to smoke a cigarette before the train comes into the station, and his heart beats wildly as people start exiting.

Gene’s one of the last to come off the train and Nix pulls in a deep breath as the man turns and their eyes meet. A huge grin stretches across his face as he walks towards Nixon, and for one of the first times since coming home, Nix feels like he can finally breathe.

He’s reminded how beautiful that face is, how expressive those eyes can be and he has to hold back from running towards him. Instead he smirks and pulls his hands out of his overcoat pockets as Gene stops a few feet away.

“Lew,” he says, the relief apparent in his tone, and he holds his hand out. 

But a handshake isn’t good enough for Nixon, not when he spent the last week unsure if Gene was going to come, and what he might have to do to get him back if he didn’t. So he pulls Gene in, holding tightly and breathing in that familiar scent. 

“It’s good to see you, Doc,” he whispers.


	12. Chapter 12

“Jesus, Lew,” Gene breathes, holding tight to him where they sit in a slump on the foyer floor. They hadn’t made it more than a few steps inside the house before Nixon lost his restraint.

Nix laughs softly and pulls Gene closer, fingers ruffling that thick hair. “Hey, Doc,” he says, smirking.

“Is this how you welcome all your visitors?”

This time the laugh rings down the hallway and Nixon presses a sloppy kiss to Gene’s cheek. “Only you get the special treatment.”

“The ‘barely make it through the door before you’re on top of me’ kind?” Gene presses his forehead against Nix’s. “I missed you, Lew.”

His throat constricts so much he can’t speak. This man is amazing.

Once they get back on their feet, Nix tugs Gene upstairs and into the bathroom where he begins filling the tub with hot water. Gene watches, his eyes still glazed from their tryst a few minutes earlier, and Nixon tells him to strip down and get in. “I’ll be right back,” he says, leaning in for a kiss.

He heads back downstairs and grabs a bottle of whiskey and two glasses – his fingers shake minutely as he makes his way back to the bathroom. Gene’s just climbing into the tub and Nixon’s gaze lingers on his backside.

“Why are we taking a bath?” Gene asks, sinking down into the water.

“Because it’s been a long, cold day,” Nixon replies, though really, he's not just talking about today. He pours whiskey into the glasses and hands one to Gene before downing his own.

Gene watches with heavy eyes as Nixon shrugs out of his shirt and steps out of his trousers, his skin breaking out into goosebumps. He pours another drink then gestures for Gene to sit up so he can climb in.

The water envelopes him like a warm blanket and he sighs deeply as he sits back, then sighs some more when Gene leans back against him, a warm, wet weight against his chest. He takes another long sip of his drink before sitting the glass on the floor beside the bathtub, then he wraps his arms loosely around Gene's waist.

"So, how's Louisiana?" Nix asks. 

Gene laughs. "Hot."

"Even now?"

"Oh yeah. Hot all year round. Might get down in the seventies next month."

Nixon grins and presses a kiss to Gene's shoulder. "You're crazy."

"Nah, you're the one that's nuts," Gene replies, pushing back against Nixon. "This cold reminds me of Belgium."

"The Battered Bastards of Bastogne," Nix murmurs. "And now look at us."

Gene shifts and inadvertently presses his lower back against Nixon's groin, and Nix stifles a groan. 

"Never thought I'd see myself here," Gene says. 

"Where's here?" Nix asks, his voice tight.

"In your house. In your bathtub."

"Is it a bad thing?"

Gene turns his head so he can look at Nixon and the smirk he gives him is so reminiscent of his own it almost makes him lightheaded. "No. Just different. But a good kind."

It's the second time in the past hour that Gene's left Nixon speechless. So instead of speaking, Nix uses his fingers and his lips to show Gene just how _good_ it can be.

\---------------------------------------------------

Nixon cobbles together something for dinner, then they head into the library. The fire crackles in the hearth and Nix watches, glass in hand, as Gene peruses the hundreds of books on the shelves, occasionally pulling one down to glance through it.

"When'd you get back?" Gene asks, putting a book back and turning to look at Nixon.

"Thanksgiving. You?"

"A few weeks earlier. So, where'd the picture come from?" 

"Harry," Nixon chuckles. "Apparently he found a camera in one of the houses in Zell am See and used up the film."

Gene steps closer until he's a foot away from where Nixon's sitting in an armchair in front of the fire. "It's a good picture," he says, his dark eyes in shadows. 

It's hard to read the man sometimes, Nix thinks, but it's heartening to know that even though they're back in the States and no longer part of the Army and it's all just normal now, Gene hasn't changed. He still looks at Nixon like he's something special, something he wants, and Christ, it feels good to be wanted. 

"I thought so, too," Nixon says, taking Gene's hand and pulling him in until his knees are knocking against Nix's. 

They keep eye contact as he finishes his drink and Gene twirls his own empty glass in his fingers, and Nixon ponders over what might happen next.

\---------------------------------------------------

He doesn't want to go anywhere, but feels he should give Gene the option to ring in the new year at the local bar. When he suggests it, Gene looks at him like he's grown two heads. 

"I think I can come up with a better way to celebrate," he says seriously. 

Nix grabs the bottle of whiskey. "Follow me."

They go to the top floor of the house, the fireplace giving off waves of warmth from across the bedroom, and Nixon pushes Gene down onto his four-poster bed. Reaching forward, Gene slides his fingers into the waist band of Nix's trousers and tugs. 

There's no sound in the room other than the crackling of the fire as they kiss and kiss and grind against each other, lost in the sensations. Gene maneuvers them so Nix is on his back and Gene's between his legs, and he reaches across to the nightstand to grab the bottle of whiskey. 

"Want some?" he asks, tipping the bottle and taking a swallow.

"What do you think, Doc?" 

Gene grins and motions for Nix to sit up. "C'mere," he says. 

Nixon lifts up and opens his mouth, lets Gene feed him the whiskey. Some dribbles down his chin and Gene leans forward - "You're so messy" - and suddenly all of the fiery feeling in Nixon's body settles in his groin when a tongue laps at his skin. 

"Jesus Christ," he whispers, voice shaking as that warm tongue makes it way down his neck. "Gene, you're killing me."

The man snickers and looks up at Nixon with hooded eyes. "Good," he whispers.

Fingers fumble with buttons and push fabric off, not stopping until they're both bare and Gene's in between Nixon's legs. 

"Lew," he gasps, pressing his face against Nixon's neck, "can I...?"

The questioning, pleading tone almost sends him over the edge, and instead of answering, he presses up with his hips. 

Gene takes his time, even though his hands shake and his breath comes so quickly he's almost panting. Nix stifles a groan when fingers slide inside, though when it's Gene's dick moving in him he can't stifle anything anymore. 

He holds tight, pressing up when Gene presses down and wraps his legs around the man's waist. 

"Jesus, Lew," Gene moans, his voice a few octaves deeper than usual, "let's do this forever, please."

Those words are what sends Nixon over the tallest cliff in the world - his vision goes white and all he can feel is every inch of Eugene Roe as they whimper into each other's mouths. 

Afterwards, lying side by side on the bed, sweat cooling on their overheated skin, Nixon turns to Gene and whispers, "Happy New Year."

"Happy New Year, Lew," Gene says, grabbing hold of Nix's arm and pulling him closer. 

Nix takes advantage and rolls on top of him, settling himself between Gene's legs. He takes a second to look down at that beautiful face (he's drunk enough this time to admit how beautiful it is and decides he can be as fucking sappy as he wants) and his throat chokes with emotion. He leans down and kisses Gene's neck, sucking lightly.

"'m glad you came," he whispers, thinking that's all he's going to confess but the next words roll out without warning. "I love you, y'know?"

Gene shivers beneath him, dark eyes widening, and after a moment he smiles. "Yeah," he says, "I know all about it."

Later, Nixon sated and drowsy and so damn content he almost doesn't know what to do with himself, Gene presses close and kisses the back of his neck. 

"I love you, too, Lew."

Nix smiles, because all is finally right with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the love - I've felt it in my very bones. You are amazing people who take my breath away. 
> 
> To TheResearcher - you're like my rock with your words of encouragement. This one's for you. Much love. xo. - Lu


End file.
